


Taken For Granted

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan thinks the unspoken... arrangement... he has with Will is perfect.  When, however, it's brought to his attention that it isn't, he has a tough decision to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken For Granted

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... So I got this bee in my bonnet last weekend that I should possibly attempt a -- token -- Valentine's Day fic. Only... I'd been sick all week with some virus or other and wasn't exactly thinking at what passes for my best, but... You know, nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that, and with a vaguely determined glint in my eye, I pushed ahead anyway and this is what I was somehow able to come up with...
> 
> And, seeing as today's Valentine's Day, if I don't post it now I won't post it at all, so... Here it is.
> 
> Narrated by Ethan. Self-beta'd.

===============  
Taken For Granted  
by TalithaX  
===============

 

Pulling a long sleeved t-shirt on over my still damp, cursorily dried skin, I walk out of the bathroom and back into the small, uninspiring-in-the-extreme motel room. Two double beds covered in once beige – and now a more dusty camel, as in... literally – coloured bedding blend effortlessly into the off-white walls and filth-tinged cream carpet. Even the drapes are the same grotty camel colour as the bedding and the faded print taking pride of place in the middle of the wall above the beds is an allegedly artistic interpretation of some desert somewhere. The room's small table and two chairs, stolen, I suspect going on their plain, functional design, from a café in the Sixties, are scuffed, rickety, and made from a pale wood that compliments the blandness of everything else perfectly.

Our bags neatly hidden in the built-in robe, the only colour in the room comes from a newspaper strewn over the still neatly made up bed, my laptop set up on the table, and Will, who's standing with his back to me as he gazes out the window. Clad only in grey boxers and an unbuttoned white shirt, he's not exactly lighting the room up any and for some unknown reason – especially as he's not exactly known for his love of bright clothing as it is – this causes a strange, unsettled feeling to present itself out of nowhere and wash over me.

Sinking down on the edge of the bed, I haphazardly shove the sections of the newspaper onto the floor before piling the pillows up along the wall and settling myself against them. Will, despite the mess I'm making, gives no indication of even being aware that I've rejoined him in the room and this merely adds to my growing sense of unease. 

My growing sense of unease which, really, I can't quite put a finger on a cause for.

I mean, I should, after all, be feeling fine.

Not only is the current mission simply – a walk in the park – one of 'observe and record', but Will and I have done our stint for the day and our target is now safely under the watchful eyes of Jane and Benji. Granted, it's all a little on the boring side but, especially seeing how drawn out and hectic the last mission was, I can live with that. If anything, it makes for a nice change of pace. That, and my gut feeling is that the mission really... is... as simple as it's been made out to be and I can't foresee any unpleasant surprises in our near future.

Sure, the room is drab, but I've been in worse and the beds are actually comfortable enough to make up for the rest of the motel's shortfalls which also makes something of a nice enough change all in itself. So... Whatever it is that's bothering me, it's not the mission and it's not the room.

I'm also, or at least... should be, contentedly sated. The sex we only finished indulging in ten or so minutes ago was everything that it usually is, so...

What gives?

Why is Will so silent, and why am I suddenly feeling on edge, as though something, although God alone knows what, is about to come to a head?

It was no more... rough and tumble (read, abrupt and meant solely as a means to an end) than normal. We reached completion in glorious unison. He welcomed – or, okay, perhaps 'accepted' would be a better, more entirely... truthful... way of putting it – my... advances... without hesitation and, as always, gave as good as he got. It was just sex. Pretty much the same as it's always been between us and, now that it's already relegated to the annuls of history, hardly worth a second thought.

I don't know. Maybe it's nothing and I'm merely projecting my own – carefully, although apparently becoming less so, suppressed – issues onto Will because it's preferable to turning the spotlight onto myself. There's something up with him though. There has to be. While post-coital conversation has never been a part of our... hook-ups, nor for that matter has deafening silence. And, regardless of whether I want to willingly admit it to myself or not, I know Will well enough to know when something is bothering him. It shows not only in his silence but also in his pensive expression and slightly defensive body language. Not currently having any pockets to shove his hands in to, he's hugging his arms loosely around his torso and his eyes haven't so much as flicked in my direction since I returned the room. 

I could ask him. I could – man up – gingerly step an inch outside of my carefully constructed and maintained with the utmost devotion self-contained box and casually enquire about what was on his mind. In fact, curiosity almost dictates that, for my own peace of mind if nothing else, I do whatever I can to get to the bottom of his peculiar, out of character mood.

Only...

I don't want to.

That is...

I do. For the sake of both putting my curiosity to rest and placating that small, niggling voice in the back of my head that's whispering at me that it's not only the... right... thing to do but also – if I hadn't done such a good job of super-gluing my damn blinkers on in the first place, that is, I'd realise that I am... genuinely... bothered by Will's silence – that I do actually want to do the decent thing and ask.

Only...

I can't.

To ask Will if there was anything bothering him would be to cross the invisible line and risk... humanising... the unspoken arrangement we have.

Actually...

Make that...

The unspoken arrangement... I... have. 

What Will's take on it is isn't something, given that I've never asked him, I know the answer to. He willingly goes along with it. That much I've always taken for granted. Sex for the sake of sex. A convenient, no strings attached, release. Random moments of pleasure where, for all too brief a moment, all the other shit going on in our lives can just be put on hold.

It just... works.

And to me, anyway, it's perfect. The sex is always great and, because there's no emotion involved, once our clothes are back on... life simply goes on. Professional, team mates, friendly and comfortable enough with each other to not make an... issue... out of the fact that what goes on behind closed doors stays there.

Again, it's perfect. I don't want a relationship. I don't even want to... care. After the monumental fuck up of Julia, I'm simply better off keeping to myself and not making the mistake of, both foolishly and dangerously, getting close to anyone. It's just not worth it. Not only did I almost succeed in getting someone I once loved killed, but I also pretty much destroyed her life as she’d always known in and put myself through the wringer as well. And... To what end? What did it achieve? Nothing. Or at the very least, nothing of any lasting good. As fun as the good times might have been, the memories of the bad – fucking horrible – times stomp all over them to the point where...

Well. To be honest, by the time we'd finished with each other I think it's fairly safe to say the day we actually met was the ultimate worst mistake either of us had ever made. If we hadn't met we wouldn't have fallen in love, and if we hadn't fallen in love things would never have got so hideously bad.

Ergo love, at least in regards to the line of work I choose to be in, is something to be best avoided at all costs. Nothing good comes of it, both parties invariably end up getting hurt, and... It's just not worth the risk.

Been there, done that, and for sake of all concerned it's simply... best... that I never attempt to go there again.

Besides, who needs it? I have my health, both my work and the sense of purpose it gives me, colleagues who double as both backup and friends, and surely that's enough for any man. Love wouldn't add anything to my life. If anything it would only detract from or add a pointless risk factor to it. I'm so... convinced... of this, in fact, that I make a point, hell, I go out of my way, to close myself off from it ever even becoming a possibility.

Love, simply put, is a liability I can ill afford.

Sex, however, is just... sex. You can have it with a stranger or someone IMF have decided on your behalf you need to – have it with – get closer to, or you can just have it with someone you know. Someone who's always there and who knows, without the need for either words or buttering up, why... Why, it has to be... now. Or why it has to, say, in this particular instance, be frantic, almost... desperate. Why... other times, it's solely to quieten the guilt... or grief... or impotent rage... in your head. Why it's nothing more than a means to an end, a release disguised in moment of sticky pleasure.

It's just sex though. Nothing more. Equating it to a form of – love – affection doesn't need to play a part in it. I don't kiss or hug or... travel down the path of anything that could be mistaken as... tender. I... give, and keep my partner with me every step of the way, but my only goal is a mutual climax, nothing less and certainly nothing more. Will tried to kiss me the first time, and I know he looked if not hurt then at the very least miffed when I immediately jumped out of bed afterwards and locked myself in the bathroom before getting dressed and going so far as to leaving him alone in the room, but...

He never said anything.

And nor did he ever try to kiss me again. Being a quick learner, the second time it happened he even beat me out of both the bed and the room afterwards. Having got what I wanted, ignoring the way he wasn't able to look me in the eye was easy. Besides, he didn't hesitate when the opportunity arose again, and by the fourth or so time was actually able to revert to discussing intel as though nothing had even happened while getting dressed.

So, you see, it's really been perfect. He's hot, agreeable, an exceptional fuck, and... accepting. He accepts what... little... I have to offer and takes it in his stride. It doesn't change our working relationship or our tentative, at arm's length – as all of mine are – friendship. It just... complements... it and gives me what I both want and need. What Will thinks about it isn't something I waste any time or energy on. Given that he’s never said no, and has even initiated it himself a couple of times, if I ever spared it so much as a second's thought I just put it down to him having the same mindset as me. Sex without having to look for it and the guarantee of a satisfactory time.

See? Perfect.

If the day I met Julia will be forever recorded in history as the worst day of both of our lives, then the day Will unexpectedly returned to our motel suite more than makes up for it. Thinking I had the suite to myself, I walked out of the bathroom naked after having had a shower just as Will unlocked the door and stepped into the room. It was just one of those... moments. Simple, unplanned, and... electric. He'd forgotten his phone which, seeing as Will's something of a perfectionist who hardly ever forgets anything, was unusual in itself, yet there he suddenly was and... as hard as he tried to stammer his incredibly logical explanation for being back in the room, his gaze kept both straying to and... settling... on my body, and...

I made a move. Really, I had to. I mean, in all seriousness, what else could I have done? His usually exemplary acting skills were failing him dismally as he couldn't hide his interest from me, I was already naked, he was – there – good looking and clearly... available. So... I advanced towards him, reached for his tie and he, with only the briefest flicker of hesitation, let me.

And... That's how, seven months ago, it started. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. However you choose to put it, it's... clinically... perfect.

I have everything I'm convinced I want and Will...

Will goes along with it. 

I... like... him. I really do. But, at the end of the day, he's... just a team mate. That's all I can... allow... him to be. If he were to get hurt I'd do the revenge 'thing' – just as I would for Benji or Jane – because that's just... the done thing. I can't... care... for him though. Perhaps even more so for his sake than my own, I just can't.

Yet...

Fuck it.

Asking if there's something bothering him is more... curiosity... than actual caring, right? It's not, after all, as though any response he can possibly give will either mean or change anything..

So, whatever... Just call it boredom fuelled curiosity or a way to kill time, but... Here goes nothing.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Will murmurs with the smallest of shrugs as, still finding the world outside preferable to having to look at me, he directs his response to the window.

Fine. That possibly went worse than I expected it to but, nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that. “You're awfully quiet.”

“As opposed to what... my normally far more garrulous self?” Will mutters drily as, finally, he glances over and flicks me an unreadable look.

“You got me there. Just...” Good one, Hunt. Seriously. Next time you get it in to your fool head to ask how someone is, don't. Just don't do it. It's simply not worth it. “Forget it. Forget I ever said anything.”

“Why, Ethan...” Slowing turning away from the window, Will looks over at me and frowns. “You're not wanting to... God forbid... talk, are you? I... I think I'd just better take a seat before the shock gets too much for me...”

“I only asked if you were okay,” I mutter, watching as he sinks down onto one of the wooden chairs and fixes me with an expectant, albeit a tired and slightly wary one, look. “I never mentioned anything about wanting to...”

“Tough,” Will interrupts. “I know you're already regretting it, but you've done it now, so...” Pausing, he sighs and goes back to staring in the general vicinity of the window. “Do you know what day it is?” he queries both softly and cryptically and, as far as I'm concerned anyway, apropos of absolutely nothing in particular.

“Day?” I echo as, clasping my hands behind my head, I make a determined point of keeping my gaze trained on him. I don't want to, especially seeing as he's right and I am already well and truly regretting ever having opened my mouth, but... having started it now I know I have to see it through. And if that means bluffing my way through it by out-staring him or blowing him away with my display of indifference then, so be it. “Of course I know what day it is. It's Thursday.”

Clearly feeling my gaze on him even though he won't meet it, Will sighs and, almost as though he's suddenly feeling – naked – uncomfortable, begins to do up the buttons on his shirt. “It's also Valentine's Day,” he murmurs quietly. “Not, however, that I really expected you to know that.”

“Oh.” That, I suppose, would explain all the flower carts on just about every street corner and all the flustered looking people scurrying around clutching bouquets of red roses today then. “So?” I can't help but snort back laughter. So... what if it's Valentine's Day? “You're not seriously sitting there telling me you're in a... sulk... because you didn't get any roses or candy, are you?”

“Sulk?” His shirt done up, Will shoots me a disappointed look and slowly shakes his head. “I'm not... sulking... and was merely stating a fact. Today is Valentine's Day. Now, personally this means next to nothing to me and I honestly believe it to be little more than a merchandise frenzy dreamt up by Hallmark, Interflora and all the candy companies, but... It's a day, another event, if you like, that's just being eaten up by...” Trailing off, he shrugs and wearily rubs his hands over his face before tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Being eaten up... by?” I reluctantly prompt when it becomes clear that he's not going to continue. As is par for the current course, I don't want to but feel as though I have to, that he can't just keep me hanging like this. “Will? What are you on about?”

“The days, they're all the same,” he sighs. “Nothing seems to matter and nothing, nothing good, at any rate, seems to happen. We work, do all that is expected of us and more, and the days they just... blur. I... I just don't know for how much longer I'll be able to cope with it, with the relentless... hopelessness... of it all.”

Relentless hopelessness? Okay. That's far more – worrying – deep and meaningful than I was wanting to be a part of and honestly don't know what to say.

“Don't get me wrong,” Will continues, “I appreciate what we do and take a sense of pride and satisfaction from it. It's not even that I want to do anything else, it's just, I... I need more than just, I suppose, day-to-day survival to live for...”

“Will...”

Suddenly sitting up straighter, Will looks over at me and smiles grimly. “Do you remember where we spent last Christmas?”

“Christmas?” I know we're in February, which means Christmas was less than two months ago, but... “No, sorry. I can't say I do remember where we spent Christmas.”

“I do,” he replies with a sigh. “It was in the sewers under Rome trying to find a vial containing a particularly nasty strain of nerve agent.”

“Ah. That's right.” I nod and smile triumphantly at the memory. “What's more, we found it.”

“Which, of course, was great, but... It still doesn't alter the fact that Christmas was spent in sewage or that the smell, regardless of how many showers were taken, lingered for days.”

“But... We did our job,” I offer, still not entirely sure I get where Will's going with any of this. “The fact that it was Christmas was just... unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” He gives me a sour look and rolls his eyes. “Christmas in Rome, but we didn't even get to see the Vatican, let alone so much as contemplate anything as... normal... as presents or a nice lunch. Then there's today, Valentine's Day in Paris, the so called city of love of all places, but... that doesn't mean anything either. Thanksgiving... Remember Thanksgiving? That was spent waiting to be extracted from a cargo ship in high seas. Halloween... Surely even you recall Halloween. When you discovered that it was the night when anything goes you sent Jane and Benji out dressed as Bonnie and Clyde to infiltrate the mark's party while we got stuck in a motel room that makes this one look positively palatial.” Scowling, he shakes his head. “I know you think I'm being unreasonable or have possibly even lost the plot, but I'm just over it. I've had enough. I sucked up your terminal lack of interest in my birthday last month, but...”

“Hang on,” I state, cutting Will off as, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, I sit up. “Your birthday? What are you talking about?”

“It was my birthday last month,” he murmurs with a shrug, “and, again, while I'm not... pathetic... enough to have been wanting a card or anything, I don't know, acknowledgement still might have been nice.”

“You...” Fuck. This is not going well and I don't like how much Will's obvious disappointment and weariness is getting to me. “You should have said something.”

“I shouldn't have had to.”

“How was I supposed to know it was your birthday?” I mutter, sounding even to my own ears a touch on the defensive, possibly even petulant side.

“The others knew.”

“They did?”

“Benji stuck a candle in a cupcake for me and attempted to sing Happy Birthday while Jane gave me a neck massage.”

“That still doesn't change the fact that I didn't know.”

“You were in the room with us at the time,” Will states matter-of-factly as he stands up and returns to his earlier position by the window. “Just... Forget I ever said anything, Ethan. Hell, you don't care anyway so forget I ever opened my stupid mouth. If something... gives... and I lose it then, whatever, what will be will be. Again, it's not as though I could be... honoured... enough for you to care about or anything like that, so... We'll just keep on as we have been. Day after tedious day, meaningless fuck after...”

“No one's forcing you to go on like this,” I interrupt, cutting him off more, it has to be said, for my own benefit than his as I don't think I'd be able to handle hearing much more out of him. “If you want a change you just have to say something. You're not a doormat.”

“Aren't I?” Will whispers as, leaning his back against the wall, he turns to face me. “I go along with your... wants... and suppress my own because I'm too afraid that if I don't or if I speak up you'll... shut down and retreat, leaving me with nothing, so... If that doesn't make me a doormat in your eyes then I think you need your eyesight checked.”

Unable to meet Will's gaze for fear of being held captive by the raw emotion in their blue depths, I stare down at the floor and clench my fingers into my knees. “Why, then, do you let...” Stopping myself from finishing that particular – let, as in he... lets... me have my way with him because he doesn't have it in him to say no? – sentence, I bite back a sigh and try again. “Why have you been going along with it, then? You've got to believe me I never would have... pushed ahead... if I thought you didn't want it.”

“That's just it,” Will murmurs with a sigh, “I do want it. The thing is though, I want more. Even though it's slowly dawning on me that I'm just wasting my time, that all I probably am to you is... convenient, I... I want you. You're more, far more, than you're pretending to be and this just... interests... me for some reason. Sometimes, now, if you must know, being one of them, I don't even know why and even go so far as to question my sanity, but I want you, I do. The sex is great, and I'll take, have... been... taking it, but it... it's just not enough. You'll probably think it's stupid, possibly even pathetic, but I need more than... just a fuck every now and again. Maybe...” Pushing away from the wall, he gives me a sad, resigned look and slowly walks across the room to the bathroom. “Maybe it's because I can't have you, that you're so closed off that you won't let anyone close to you, but I thought,” he continues softly as he pauses in the doorway, “well, that is I once thought, that... Maybe. Maybe I could, if I was patient and just went along with you, eventually get through to you, but... Whatever. Never mind. Just forget it. Forget everything. I'm an idiot that you don't understand, and you're... closed off, so...”

“I...” I've got to get out of here. To hell with merely conforming to Will's expectations of me, I need fresh air and I need it now. Standing up, I quickly jam my feet into a pair of shoes and, without bothering with the laces, snatch up a jacket from the cupboard before making a beeline for the door. “I'm just going for a walk,” I mutter to Will as, his expression deceptively blank, he watches me from the doorway to the bathroom. “I... I'll be back later.”

“Whatever,” Will replies flatly. “Just... Don't think you can wave a magic wand and make all of this go away by returning with a token gesture red rose though because, I'm telling you now, you won't much like what I do with it.”

“No roses. Got it,” I murmur weakly as, freedom finally in sight, I open the door and step through it. A sudden thought entering my mind, I quickly come to a stop and hesitantly poke my head back into the room. “Uh... You'll still be here when I get back, yeah?”

“Where else am I going to go?” Shrugging, Will starts to shut the bathroom door. “Don't worry. I'll be here. You'll have your walk, I'll berate myself for ever having opened my mouth and... by the time you get back the status quo will be restored and we can both forget any of this ever happened.”

Swiftly deciding that offering any form of a 'fingers crossed' response would most definitely not be the way to go, I simply pull the door shut and, after lacing my shoes and pulling on my jacket, jog down the stairs and, with no small degree of relief, walk out onto the street.

Just... Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

How could I have been so – self-absorbed – stupid? What I thought – or perhaps that should be, what I'd done an incredibly thorough job of convincing myself – was perfect, actually... wasn't.

Isn't.

In fact, it's far from perfect and is actually a fucking mess.

A mess of my own careful construction.

I got what I was convinced I wanted without giving any thought whatsoever to Will. He may as well have come out and said it to me straight, that he was nothing more than a body to me. Something to be taken out when I needed a release before, without even being brushed off or checked for holes, simply getting packed away and put on hold until required again.

He may as well have said it because I can see now, as my blinkers dissolve into fine dust and cold, hard reality hits me in the face, that's pretty much exactly how it was. I pulled my head out of my ass long enough to take note of what he liked and always made sure he got as much out of the... encounter... as I did, but... That's where it ended. He was a body, not a friend or even... a person.

And, fuck it, I should have known better.

Hell, I may not want to admit it to myself, but I do actually know him better than I've been allowing myself to let on. Will isn't like me. He can't... switch off... like I can and he can't fully quash his feelings. He tries, I suspect more in an attempt to save face in front of me than for his own benefit, but it always gets too much for him. It's not a failing or anything – I, on my fucking pedestal, should look down my nose at – he should feel ashamed of, it's just how he is. Will's still... human... enough to accept the part emotions have to play in his life. It's... what makes him who is and, yes, I knew this when I invited him to join the team. I thought, at the time, that his empathy would balance out my... coldness... and that together we'd hopefully make a good pair.

Only... Instead of learning anything from him I've tried, in my selfish pursuit of self-protection, to drag him down to my level. Cold. Empty. Too afraid to speak up for fear of where it might lead.

Goddamn it, I've done it this time. I really have.

Too caught up in the hideous mass of thoughts rushing through my head to be paying any attention as to where I'm going, I somehow find myself not only down by the Seine but also quite literally surrounded by sheep-like couples doing the whole romantic, 'Valentine's stroll by the river' thing. Appalled by this – happy lovers as far as the eye can see being, let's face it, hardly what I need at the moment – but having nowhere else I can think of going, I take a seat on the first empty park bench I find and, digging my elbows into my knees, bury my head in my hands. Although it's quite a foreign sensation to me, I... don't actually know what to do. Will said that we can forget anything happened and just go on as we had been, and I believe he'd do his best to see it through, but it's not the answer. I like it, for both its simplicity and the fact it would save me from having to do a damn thing about any of it but, again, it's not the answer. It wouldn't be fair on Will and nor would it solve anything.

It's out in the open now anyway. He, although I can't even begin to fathom why, would like more from me than I've ever contemplated – being capable of – offering and I...

Instead of dismissing it outright and reinforcing my blinkers, I'm...

Touched?

Hardly believing my good fortune?

Considering it?

Wanting to run for the hills?

Incredibly annoyed that things have reached this point and that he so much as... dared... to expect more from me than I was willing to give?

Dazed, confused and... for one of the very rare occasions in my life... not knowing what to do?

Completely and utterly – having so very industriously dug myself into this mess in the first place – fucked?

I just... don't know.

I mean... I want Will. Of course I do. Why wouldn't I? Using my favourite sort of – clinically detached – logic, he's... Convenient. Available. An excellent lover. Knows – even if I have no fucking idea why he thinks it's honestly what he wants – what he's opening himself up for. Attractive. Pleasant to be around. Has no obnoxious habits that I'm aware of.

Then... there's the side of things I've been industriously refusing to acknowledge. Kind. Gentle. Patient. Wicked sense of humour. A drive, and commitment to work that equals mine. Trustworthy. Very pleasant to be around, to the point, actually, of... unconsciously, I hasten to add... wanting to seek him out and just... linger... in his company. Just... a genuinely nice person, easily better than me and liked by pretty much all he comes in contact with. 

There's no denying that he has a lot going for him. An incredible lot, but...

Logic, the same carefully constructed and irrefutable logic I've been applying to my life ever since my marriage met its inevitable end, tells me to... forget it. That, not only am I being foolish to even consider it – my reasons for avoiding it, after all, not having changed any – but that the kindest thing to do for Will would be to just stomp all over it now, before it has a chance to go any further.

Really, it's the only right thing to do.

The sudden longing, or... memories of how good it can be... shouldn't... no, make that... can't come into it. I built, after all, this wall I'm hiding behind for a good reason, a sensible, valid reason. I'm better off alone. I just am. It's what I've been telling myself ever since Julia, what I've been striving to protect myself from, so...

To turn my back on it now would be a mistake. Will doesn't know what he's thinking – which, granted, would make an extremely out of character change for him, but... as I'm scrabbling for excuses not to give in here that's really not something I should be taking into consideration – and will soon realise that it was simply a spur-of-the-moment thing that's best put aside and forgotten about. Besides, I'm fairly confident he's wrong anyway and that he doesn't actually want me. He might, for reasons entirely unknown, think he does, but if he looked at the bigger picture he'd – question his own sanity – go running for the hills.

I understand, however, even if I don't want to, where he's coming from in respect to his random, somewhat disjointed spiel about Christmas and Valentine's Day and the like. Will's still... connected... enough to what passes in most people's eyes to a normal life to both acknowledge and, in whatever way he can, want to participate in these sorts of events that everyone else gets to take for granted. Again, it's not a failing and I know, if I bothered to ask them, that Jane and Benji would be the same. It's not that they'd want to give up their job to celebrate with the masses, but they'd still like it... noted... somehow. As in, instead of simply marching them all down into the sewers on Christmas Day I should have... made a joke about it and offered to make it up to them at a later date or something. The thing is though, while somewhere in the back of my mind I must have known it was Christmas – given that the hype takes over the entire month of December, it's pretty hard to miss – the fact that we were trawling around in the sewers on the actual day simply... passed me by. I didn't know, and I should have. I should have... engaged... more with the people around me, the people I count on and would quite literally be lost without, instead of focussing solely on the task at hand because that's what I believed – would keep me safe – was my only priority.

So, really, it's simple. Will deserves better. He deserves someone who'll wish him a happy birthday and who'll take notice of his moods and actually ask if he's okay as opposed to ignoring him until he's... needed. He deserves, in other words, someone other than me and the best thing I can do for him is draw a line in the sand right now, back away from it as fast as I can and just put this little... issue... aside once and for all and move on. 

My mind – reluctantly – made up, I'm contemplating making a move back to the motel room when the sound of applauding catches my attention and causes my head to jerk to the right in order to locate the source of it. A large group of people, all couples and all still clapping, cheering, and in quite a few instances hugging each other, mill around a young couple who, going on the way the man is slowing standing up after having been down on bended knee while the woman sobs tears of happiness and gazes at the ring on her finger, have just become engaged. It's an unoriginal, stereotyped in the extreme Valentine's Day special and instead of softening my stance on love it just further hardens my heart to it.

Fools. Don't they know the threat of heartache they're opening themselves up for? Just because it's all hugs and kisses and 'I'll love you forever' now doesn't mean that it'll last.

Annoyed at all the fuss and bother being made of the couple by all the, I assume, perfect strangers around them, I turn to the left and spot a sight that immediately makes more – gratifying – sense to me. A couple, in this case, two men in their thirties, having a heated argument. Although I don't know what they're arguing about, it's still fairly clear to see that the one in the Adidas jacket is pissed off with the one in the Nike jumper and doesn't want anything to do with him. Mr Adidas looks close to tears, while Mr Nike has his arms folded across his chest in a classic defensive pose. Rose petals lie scattered at their feet and the mangled remains of a bouquet teeters precariously close to falling into the Seine.

While I accept that it's not very becoming of me, their argument and subsequent disintegration – given that Mr Nike is now storming off and Mr Adidas is standing frozen to the spot, his expression one of anguish – simply confirms for me that my decision is the right one. Keep myself closed off, push Will away and... stay safe. I mean, look at Mr Adidas. Who needs that sort of grief, right?

Standing up, I shove my hands in my pocket and, making a point of avoiding eye contact, start to walk towards Mr Adidas. I've just about reached him when the sound of someone running reaches my ears and I glance up just in time to watch the very apologetic – 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please forgive me, I'm a fool and I do love you' – return of Mr Nike. Although I mentally will Mr Adidas to push him away or tell him to fuck off, he doesn't and, both with tears of relief streaming down their face, they embrace as though they honestly believe they're in the grips of their last moment on earth.

And...

God forbid.

The scene touches me. It shouldn't, and I can't deny that I'm still fairly confident that they're making a mistake, but...

It's a risk they're willing to take.

Their relationship mightn't be perfect, and Mr Nike clearly put a massive dint somewhere along the lines in Mr Adidas’ Valentine's Day plans, but they're neither accepting nor admitting defeat and are prepared to put the work needed into staying together.

Just... Shit.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Hell, I know I am, but...

Just like that, it gives me a curious sense of hope. Don't accept. Don't give up. Bite the bullet and take the risk, because... It could be worth it. Maybe it won't be, and maybe things will go to shit again, but you'll never know if you never try, and if you don't try...

You're a fool. 

You might be a fool for trying too, but at least you'll be a fool who was brave enough to take a chance in the first place, so...

I'm not deluded enough to think my sudden change of – heart – mind comes with a guarantee of success, but right at this exact moment at least, I don't care. I know I should, that nothing has essentially changed, but, again, I simply can't find it in myself to care. Ignoring the whole love / relationship / behaving like a normal, decent human being side of things, I wouldn't have gotten to this point in my life and career if I hadn't tackled every risk I encountered head on, so... That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to throw caution the winds and... give it a go. I'd quite possibly prefer to walk into a crowded biker bar clad in a pink tutu and with nothing more than a nail file to take them all out with, but there you go.

What's life, after all, without risks?

With this new found streak of... happy-go-lucky... insanity guiding me, I hurry back to the motel and, entering the room, find Will already in bed. Although he's on his side and I can't see his face, I know he's not asleep simply because... everything else aside, he just won't be. Just as I wouldn't be if he'd been the one to leave the room, or Benji wouldn't if he'd been sharing with Jane and she'd chosen to go out. If you're sharing with a team mate during a mission and he or she leaves, regardless of how tired you might be or how much you simply long for sleep, you can't fully relax or switch off until you know they're back and safe. Alternatively, if you're sharing in down time and do manage to doze off, you still wake the second they return for no other reason than you're so highly tuned to always being aware of your surroundings that, and it doesn't matter how quiet they're being, you immediately know you're no longer alone.

So, basically, Will won't be asleep. He probably wasn't in the first place, and even if he had been he won't be now.

Applying my own special – if you're going to do something harebrained, do it now before common sense has the time to rear its tedious head – logic, the one I draw on for most things mission-related, to the situation, I swiftly strip down to my boxers and, no doubt to Will's immediate annoyance, climb into bed next to him. As I would have felt safe betting my life on, his entire body stiffens at my unwanted invasion of his personal space and he surreptitiously inches further away from me and closer to the edge of the bed.

“While there's a lot of things I... could... say,” Will mutters, “I'm going to settle on telling you that I'm not in the mood and just really hope that you listen to me for once and actually get it.”

“If it helps, I both get it and can tell you that that's not why I'm here,” I reply, cautiously propping myself up on my elbow and half leaning over Will. I want to touch him, to at least put my hand on his shoulder, but his body language stops me. On his side and with both hands under his pillow and the bedding up to his chin, he's still in the bed as opposed to bolting from it in his haste to get away from me, which, granted, is an almost promising start, but at the same time it's pretty clear that he's not impressed and that I have to tread carefully if I'm going to have any chance of hooking his attention.

“In that case, A) I'm relieved, and, B) get out of my bed,” Will retorts. “You're cold and I want to go to sleep.”

Cold as in physically, or mentally, or both? On the plus side, at least he's talking to me.

“And... You probably don't want to hear this now, but I... uh... I've got something I need to say to you.”

“You're right,” he sighs as he pulls one hand out from under the pillow in order to tug the bedding halfway over his head. “I don't want to hear it. Please, Ethan, just go away. All I want is for today to be over and the only way to achieve that is to go to sleep. So... Please. Leave me alone.”

To be perfectly honest, this is going just about as well as I could ever have expected it to, but... Having started it, I'm going to finish it.

“Come on, Will.” I gently close my hand around his shoulder through the bedding and ignore how he achieves what, really, should have been impossible in that he manages to stiffen even further. “Roll over so I can see you.”

“Go. Away.”

“Please. Just roll over and let me get what I have to say off my chest and then I'll leave you in peace.”

“Get your hand off me and go away.”

Okay. Fine. Always being one for thinking on my feet, the time has come, it appears, for a hastily thought up Plan B.

Getting up, I smooth the bedding back down over the mattress before walking around the bed and crouching down by the side of it. The light coming through the cracks in the drapes from the street lamps outside offering ample illumination, I can see that, just as I thought they would have been, his eyes are open and he gazes at me warily as I place my hand on the mattress by his waist. He still doesn't make any attempt to get away though and, be it a case of clutching at straws or whatever, I take this to be a good sign.

“I know my timing sucks,” I murmur softly, “that, hell, just about everything I seem to do where you're concerned sucks, but...” Taking a deep breath, I force myself to meet Will's eyes. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you, and I'm sorry that I've been so focussed on closing myself off that I've been oblivious to what's been staring me in the face. I'm just... sorry... for everything. For today, for Christmas, for missing your birthday... Fuck! Just about you name it and I'm currently sorry for it.”

“Sorry,” Will whispers, his expression giving nothing away as to what he's thinking as, to both my surprise and immediate concern, he shuffles over to the other side of the bed. “You know, of all the things you could have said just then, that... sorry... wasn't one I'd ever contemplated,” he continues, throwing the bedding back and giving me an expectant look. “Come on then, as the heating in this dive isn't up to much, I suppose you'd better get your, in this case literally, sorry ass in here with me.”

Hardly daring to believe my good fortune – surely it can't be this easy? – I cock my head to the side and hesitate over making a move. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't.”

“But...”

“You apologised,” Will interrupts almost dismissively, “it's a start. One that I have to be honest and say I wasn't expecting, so I'm just trying to make the most of it. But...” Pausing, he rolls over onto his back and, gazing up at the ceiling, sighs. “Whatever. It's your choice. Continue on the path you've somehow started down or... turn back now. I'm not as patient as you might think and I can't keep doing this, so... It's now or never, Ethan. The choice is yours.”

Not needing telling twice, I nod my acceptance and, before doubt has time to rear its ugly head, gingerly climb onto the mattress and pull the bedding over me. The bed being just big enough for two people to lie on it without touching if they stick close to the edge and don't move, I settle myself as far away from Will as I can manage without falling out and just... wait. Now that I'm here – where, it has to be said, I've never actually been before, not in terms of simply... sleeping... together – I don't know what to do next. He's... seemingly... accepted my apology, but... Now what?

Now, I suppose, I could... make the next move?

Shifting closer to Will, I roll over onto my side and, with a little bit of gentle prodding, get him to both settle on his side and face me. “You believe me, don't you, that I'm sorry,” I whisper, “and that I do genuinely want to try to... make a go... of this? I'm still far from convinced that it's a good idea, but...” The rest of my declaration dying on my lips as, taking matters into his own hands, Will cups my cheek in his palm and very softly kisses me, I drape my arm around his waist and, effectively waving the white flag of defeat, take his silent response as a... yes. He believes me and wants to make a go of it too. I wouldn't kiss before, even though I knew he wanted to, so... He's made the first move and tested the water and, yes. Everything's both very much and very surprisingly a yes.

Breaking the kiss, Will strokes his fingers down the side of my face and flashes me a tentatively hopeful smile. “Did that answer your question, or...” He blinks those very blue eyes of his at me and plants a fleeting kiss on the tip of my nose. “Or... now that you seem to have accepted that it isn’t going to kill you, do I have to go into more detail?”

“Well...” I grin and pull him closer still. “You know, I have been a little... slow... just recently.”

“That you have,” he agrees, mirroring my grin as, it being my turn to take the lead this time, he welcomes my lips on his for a brief but quite thorough kiss. “I think, however, that you're definitely getting there.” His grin broadening, he repeats his funny little nose-kissing-routine and laughs. “At the risk of overloading your limited... capabilities... here, I just want to get in now and say that, thinking ahead, next Valentine's Day, while you can still... stick... the roses, I wouldn't say no to candy...”

“Candy, huh?” Laughing, I silently applaud his positive, forward thinking attitude and, seeing as it clearly works for him, try the tip-of-the-nose-kissing thing for myself. “On that note, better late than never, Happy Valentine's Day, Will. May it be the start of many.”

“Happy Valentine's Day, Ethan,” Will replies as, stifling a yawn, he drapes his around my shoulder and arranges himself comfortably next to me. “If nothing else it's the start of... something... and that's good enough for me...”

~ end ~


End file.
